Eyes of the Dreamer, Book 2
by Kiss-Kiss-Kiss-Goodbye
Summary: Sequel to Cat's Knight. Cat and Sean have been dating for six months, on their anniversary night something happens that will change their lives forever. Rated T for sexual content and language.
1. Chapter 1

"Come on, baby, let me drive tonight, please? It's our anniversary…"

Cat let just a little bit of hurt creep into her tone, just enough to invoke Sean's give-her-what-she-wants instinct. And it worked. Flawlessly. He struggled internally as she watched him; shaking his head, a small twitch as he imagined her recklessness, shuddering at the thought of the scrapes and dents all over her car. However, one look at her pouting face coupled with that tone and he sighed and handed her the keys to his Jaguar.

"Thanks, babe!"

In the six months that they had been dating he had never let her drive his car.

She was careful pulling out of the driveway, but on the open road, she downshifted quickly and sped off into the night. At first Sean was tense, but after the first ten minutes he relaxed and cranked up the radio. They jammed out to a few songs before Sean rifled through his CDs and inserted and blank covered disc into the player.

"What's that?"

"You'll see."

A few seconds later his voice came through the Jag's speakers and Cat felt tears begin to gather in her eyes. It was her song, "Inevitable", the song he and written just for her. The song that had broken down the final barrier in her messed up head and let her be with him.

"Happy anniversary, Kitty-Cat. I've got a present for you, but I think it'll have to wait until we get to the restaurant."

Irritation wiped the tears from her eyes and, of course, he noticed and laughed. It was infectious and soon she was laughing right along with him. She just couldn't hold on the negative emotions, that was Jade's style, not hers. Sean reached over and held her hand over the gear shifter. The ride was cool and pleasant and Cat thought it was one of the most perfect moments of her life.

The restaurant, Sekisui, was beautiful. Low lights and candles around the tables, huge fish tanks with the most wonderful tropical fish and coral. The sushi and sashimi was perfect and delicious but Cat barely registered any of it. She was riveted by Sean, the way he looked in the light, the way the shadows crossed his face when a candle flickered. Yep, she was definitely in love. They must have talked for hours but she didn't remember what was really said; only the vague concepts like school, their friends, and their childhood. The whole conversation was wiped from her mind when he gave her the anniversary gift he had promised.

"So…where's my present?"

Sean smiled and his eyes lit up like emerald flames. His gaze locked on Cat's and she felt breathless. Then he broke the mood by laughing at her.

"You don't even care what it is, do you? You're just excited to get a present!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He laughed again at Cat's stricken look, adding to her irritation. She huffed and turned away from him. This only made Sean laugh harder.

"Fine! If you're just gonna make fun of me then I'm leaving!"

Cat made as if to stand and suddenly Sean was in front of her. All trace of laughter gone, the intense look on his scarred but handsome face stopped her in her tracks. He reached out and touched her cheek and she leaned into his hand, unable to help herself.

"I'm sorry baby; I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

She looked up at him and the burning sincerity in his eyes made it impossible for her to not believe him.

"It's okay. Have I told you that I love you yet?"

"Nope."

His smile was contagious and she found herself grinning right back at him.

"I do. I love you."

His eyes found hers again and he didn't need to say a word. She could almost physically touch the way he felt about her. Cat's cheek colored but she couldn't bring herself to break the moment by looking away.

"So, can I have my present now?"

He smiles again, but there was sadness behind it now, not much but it was there.

"Close your eyes, Kitty-Cat."

Reluctantly, her eyes slid closed and Cat heard him open something like a small box and then a metallic tinkling, like wind through a chime. The sound was delicate, almost musical.

"Now open them."

Cat opened her eyes and saw the most beautiful necklace she'd ever laid eyes on. It was silver, polished so that it seemed to shine with its own light, the links were tiny, delicate, the kind of thing Cat was afraid to touch because she might break it. Hanging from the chain was a pendant that was silver as well, a Celtic cross except that the left arm was an angel's wing instead of its normal shape. At the center of the cross was a ruby so red it seemed to be a drop of blood somehow transformed into a gem. She recognized the shape of the cross quickly; it was the same shape as the black tattoo on Sean's left shoulder.

"It's beautiful."

"It was my mother's. That's why I got my mark made to look like it."

"Sean, I can't take this…"

"Sure you can, Kitty-Cat. I want you to have it."

Cat smiled as Sean pulled her to her feet and spun her around. She lifted her ruby-red locks so that he could fasten the necklace behind her slender neck. It settled on her chest as if it belonged there. Which, Cat supposed, it did now. She smiled even wider at the thought and spun to kiss Sean enthusiastically.

"Let's get out of here."

Her eyes traveled down his body suggestively. He grinned and reached for the keys to the Jag, but Cat was too quick for him.

"Ah-ah-ah, I still get to drive."

He growled and crushed her to him, kissing her fiercely. When he pulled away, which was much too soon for Cat, there was a silent question in his eyes, THE question.

_Tonight?_ They seemed to ask.

"Yes…" Cat whispered as she blushed furiously.

Sean smiled, kissed her again and then tugged her out of the restaurant.

Cat regained some of her composure at the car. She looked at him from beneath her lashes.

"So, my place or yours?"

It was the first time she had ever asked this question when she meant what she did.

"Mine."

The desire in his eyes took her breath away and she had trouble getting into and starting the car. They rode in comfortable silence, but Cat could feel his eyes on her. She stopped at a red light and Sean leaned over to kiss her hungrily. Only the honking of the car behind them reminded them of where they were. Laughing, Cat pulled into the intersection.

Then the world went black.

**A/N: I promise its not a tragedy. Please keep reading lol. Reviews are also nice.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry about how long I've taken to get around to writing this, I have no excuse other than the lazies. Anyway, just to clear something up, I will be switching back and forth between Cat's POV and Sean's POV with the Italicized and Bolded word _Fade_. Enjoy.**

Cat briefly wondered why she was standing in front of an old projector screen, she couldn't remember how she had gotten to this dark little room and couldn't see a way to get back out again. And it was very important that she get out, something bad had happened and someone was waiting for her…somewhere. Before she could grasp the memories, the screen lit up and Cat saw a red haired woman walking towards an old movie theatre, the woman looked so familiar but Cat couldn't place her in her memories. She leaned closer and the film enveloped her.

Weary of the tedium of her days, her lonely life going nowhere, the fiery haired woman skips work and steps inside a half-empty old movie house showing a scratched and grainy romantic film from her youth; she takes her favorite seat in the middle of the seventh row, hoping to experience once again the consoling power of sudden uncomplicated love, even if not one's own, love that has no trajectory attached to it but is a pure and immediate enrichment of the soul and delight of the body.

In the film, two strangers separately board a train back in a time when trains had compartments with sliding doors and windows that could be pulled down for lingering, handkerchief waving farewells. The woman, her orange hair blowing in the wind, waves goodbye to her husband if that's who he is, the man to a woman who may be his fiancé , or perhaps his sister. There are shouts from the stationmaster, whistles, the slamming of heavy doors, slow wheezy movement, wisps of steam curling past as if to erase one reality in anticipation of another. He raises the window, and then they turn and nod politely to each other, settling in for the journey.

"Going far?" he asks, a half-smile gracing his handsome face, made only more so by the slanting scar across his left eye.

She looks up with a smile.

The smile fades.

Something seems to happen between them. The train is chugging along just as trains used to do, and for a magical moment they seem to be all alone, rocking through space, their hearts beating to the rhythm of the train, though in fact the compartment is full and they are being watched closely over newspapers and knitting.

They lean toward each other to speak earnestly about the weather and the vexation of travel, their hearts visibly melting, and receive from a severe old lady sitting near the compartment door a particularly withering glare, but there is a telltale tear in her eye, as if she might once long ago have been similarly struck—just as there is a tear in the red haired woman's eye, as she sits there in the musty old movie house.

All of these people in the film are, of course, dead, which reminds her, as if she needed reminding, of the irreversible passing of time, adding to her sadness, for, sooner or later, she, like they, will also be dead, but without ever having had a man gaze into her yes that way, a moment so human, so iconic, so unspeakably beautiful—essential really, to a well-lived life—but one never granted her or to be granted.

As the dead actor and the dead actress fall into an immortal clinch, the film breaks and rattles in the projector and the lights come up while the repairs are made. She knows how it will all turn out, and knows it will only deepen her melancholy, so she rises to leave, pulling her coat on, just as a man four rows down rises and gathers up his own hat and coat, glancing at her fleetingly, revealing a handsome, yet scarred face.

As she steps out into the aisle and he does the same, they will accidentally bump into each other, or maybe it won' be an accident but something ordained.

The film rattles again and Cat is released from the heart-wrenching scenes only to feel herself slip into blackness.

_**Fade…**_

Sean shakes his head, clearing the fuzzy feeling from his thoughts, and then he smells the stench of burning rubber and gasoline. He jerks his head up quickly and sees the twisted wreckage that is the front end of his car and the truck that had slammed into them. Panic grips him as his eyes find Cat, her body unmoving.

He rips the seatbelt from him and stumbles out of the car, and then to the driver's side of the now destroyed Jaguar. The door is deformed from the impact and he can't get it open. The smell of gas is stronger now, as is his panic. Seeing no other option, Sean draws back his fist and slams it into the window, over and over, the pain is nothing to the relief he feels when the weakened glass shatters.

Quickly he reaches into the car and detaches Cat's seatbelt, then, after clearing as much glass as he is able, pulls her from the burning remains of the Jag, feeling the drag of a sharp shard against his face cutting from chin to cheek.

Once free of the car, Sean shifts her in his arms, cradling her as a parent would their child; he can feel her breathing against his neck. Hurrying away from the burning wreckage, his only though to get Cat to safety, Sean suddenly feels the curious sensation of flight, then there is a deafening roar and hellish heat consumes him from behind.

Once more his world goes dark.

**End notes: And yet another cliff hanger, I do apologise for my unseemly desire to keep you in suspense. Hopefully you'll review and tell me what you think. Until we meet again in chapter 2, goodbye and good luck.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here we are yet again gentle reader…. Yeah I was going for a deep message and failed. Enjoy!**

Cat woke in the darkness once more, the familiar white screen already playing a new film. This time, the screen showed a man, not old but not young, his slightly lined face dignified in its handsomeness, even his slanting scar spoke of youthful good looks. She tried to resist its pull but failed as the glowing images drew her forward and consumed her.

Alone at home, he watches this old film, imagining that it is he who rises from the third row as the movie-house lights come up and, as he lifts his hat and coat from the adjoining seat, catches a glimpse of the flame haired, sorrowful woman four rows back, who seems to be tearfully staring at him. A source-less music rises, throbbing, as if from their shared gaze. As the man in the film pulls his coat and starts up the aisle toward where he and the woman will jostle each other, intentionally or accidentally or as if both compelled to so collide (it's purposefully ambiguous), he also dons his coat—he knows how the movie will turn out—and heads off for a drink at the neighborhood bar, called there by what he feels to be his vocation to rescue sad maidens. Of whom, no shortage, he has only to choose or wait to be chosen.

Meanwhile, drink in hand; he watches the old movie that is playing silently on the TV over the bar, one he remembers well. It once had the power to excite him inordinately, and it excites him now: A man, out hiking, meets a young red haired woman on the trail. She looks up, pauses, her smile fading, holds his gaze for a timeless moment, and then, as if deflected by the stunning power of it, veers off the trail and into the wilderness. The man continues on his path, but he too is stunned, and after a few steps he changes his mind and leaves the trail to follow her.

The wilderness is thick, confusing, no sign of her, easy to get lost, he decides to go no farther—but then he sees her, standing knee deep, nude, her back to him, in a softly lit pond. Film nudity was rare in those days and never more than a teasing glimpse, but in this restored version using recovered footage the camera remains fixed on the woman, approaching her from behind as the hero of the movie spellbound (as he, too, perched at the bar, is spellbound, before an ancient mystery being spectacularly revealed), approaches her. After pausing to gaze tenderly upon this vision (she knows he is watching her, he knows that she knows), the man strips down and steps in front of the camera and into the pond, their paired bodies bathed in a strange, unearthly light.

"Their backsides are beautiful…" a woman, her red hair seemingly ablaze in the late afternoon sunlight, says.

Absorbed in the film, he hadn't noticed her sit next to him, and he's not sure if he's pleased by the interruption. This is the best part.

"But what always gets me," she says, "is that first moment when they look into each other's eyes.

He nods in agreement, unable to take his own eyes off the screen until the actors have entered the water up to their shoulders and have turned towards each other.

"That's when it all happens," he says, turning at last as the actors have turned, to stare into her gazing eyes. "The rest is just mechanics."

"Like a spark to a fire," she replies throatily.

"Which, sadly, always goes out," he adds smiling wistfully, "but before it does…"

She doesn't object to leaving the bar; she went there hoping for something like this, the spark-to-fire lady. Nor does she regret missing the rest of the movie—she knows how it will turn out: the two strangers will make love in the water, but will never see each other again, she walking away into the wilderness, he, momentarily sated, smiling as he watches her go, but later overtaken by a terrible longing that sends him all over the world in a futile search for her. A fairy tale of sorts.

Not so the present encounter. They have somehow got to the sadness of such affairs without experiencing the ecstasy that is supposed to come first. To break the awkward silence that has fallen, they pull their undergarments back on and turn on the TV to see what movies are showing.

"Ah, I like this one," he says.

She knows it. It's about a blind flower girl from whom, every afternoon at the same hour, a gentleman buys a fresh bouquet. For his fiancée or his wife, the flower girl assumes, and she always wishes the recipient well, though it is clear that she is falling helplessly in love with the man's kind, mellifluous voice, and she waits every day, listening for him with transparent longing.

It reminds her, curled up there on the sofa in her underwear, her shirt draped over her shoulders, of another film she likes much more, also ultimately about a blind person, in which a winsome governess with flowing red hair falls in love with the scarred but handsome master of the house and he, after only a moment's hesitation (either it happens like that or it doesn't), with her. The mistress of the house, his wife, is a cruel and vindictive woman, and the movie takes a tragic turn—it's the master who ends up blind—but before that there are about ten magical minutes as beautiful as anything in the history of movies.

Now, on the TV, the soothing voice is saying in a soft whisper perhaps not meant to be overheard that the flower girl is very beautiful, and she turns her face toward the whisper with abject adoration burning in her blind eyes. They see him now. He is a hideously scarred war veteran, but the flower girl, of course, doesn't see this—she sees only the noble soul within, as a disembodied voice seems to say.

In the other movie, the one she prefers, the master is not yet blind when his wife coldly dismisses the governess, mainly because of the good ten minutes that have gone before, and at the door, before the poor governess steps out and disappears into a winter storm, there is a final shared glance between her and the master that tears her heart. The expressions on their faces, as best she remembers them, are much like those of the scarred veteran and the flower girl now, the soldier stunned by the worshipful way the girl _looks_ at him, even if unseeing—he could not believe that something like this would ever happen to him again.

Unfortunately, he is also guiltily aware that he has been misleading the poor child, for the flowers he buys are indeed for his wife, who is lying in the hospital in a coma brought on by the shock of his return, a coma from which she is not expected to rise. Consequently, though it wrenches his heart, he forgoes any further contact with the flower girl, who waits and waits in gathering dismay, listening in vain for the voice she loves.

In the other movie, the one she remembers, the master suffers a similar agony. His sight gone, his wife institutionalized, he spends his fortune sending emissaries around the world in search of the governess. Most of theses emissaries are merely taking advantage of his anguish, accepting his money without even trying to find her. One invents a rumor that she is dead or dying, others that she is believed to have married a desert sheikh or entered a nunnery under an assumed name.

In utter despair, his fortune exhausted, his false friends departed, the master leaves his house and, following the sound of the breaking waves, feels his way with his white cane to the edge of the cliff. He is about to take his final fatal step when he hears a beloved voice calling his name. He turns, staggers backward toward the edge, dropping his cane, but the governess rushes forward and pulls him to safety and they fall into a tearfully ecstatic embrace.

Not so lucky the flower girl. The disfigured veteran waits until the first anniversary of his wife's burial before returning to the flower stall, only to see the blind girl, having abandoned all hope, step out, unseeing eyes to the heavens, into the onrushing traffic. Brakes squeal, people scream, there is a sound of crunching metal. He rushes to her side. She lies crushed on the pavement, a confusion of wrecked vehicles all around her, blood leaking from her wounds into her hair staining the locks an even deeper red.

"My love!" he gasps.

Her eyes flutter open and seem to see him and, with a faint ethereal smile, she dies.

The rescuer of sad maidens and the spark-to-fire lady are both weeping as the darkness rises and again oblivion claims Cat.

_**Fade**_

Sean wakes slowly to the beeping of an EKG machine. He lifts his head slightly and winces before focusing on the individual pains. His back feels hot, as if there were a warming pad behind him, he feels the various scrapes and cuts along his legs and arms, his vision is obscured on the right side by a large white bandage.

"Nothing broken."

He sighs to himself. Then it hits him. The restaurant. The car. The wreck. Cat. Cat, Cat, Cat, Cat! Sean flings himself from the bed, ripping the IV from his hand and the sensors from his body. The EKG goes flatline from lack of a body to read and the nurse is through the door almost as if she was waiting for him to wake. She freezes upon seeing him out of his bed and hits the button on the wall summoning help.

"Mr. Knight, please lie back down, you are very injured. You were in a car accident—"

"Where's Cat?"

He's pleased to note that his voice is calm despite the panic that has suddenly taken hold of him.

"Who—"

"MY GIRLFRIEND YOU STUPID BITCH!"

So much for calm.

"She was in the car with me, she was driving, I got her out before the car caught fire, she was still breathing when it went up and that's the last thing I remember."

Two massive male orderlies entered the room from behind the nurse, one brandishing a syringe.

"Keep that away from me."

"Now Mr. Knight, you're over exerting yourself in a weakened state, you're confused and disoriented. This sedative will help you relax and rest…"

While the nurse was speaking, one of the orderlies had inched forward and was suddenly lunging at Sean, trying to grab him. Sean reacted without thought, his fist slamming into the man's solar-plexus as his foot darts behind the man's leg, tripping him. The orderly's hand gazes his face, ripping the bandage from it and hot blood poured down his face. Sean didn't care. His adrenaline surged as the second orderly approached, syringe in hand. He dodged a clumsy thrust of the needle and the fumbling hands of the man and then drove his knee into his crotch. As the man bends over in pain, Sean slams his fist into the man's temple knocking him out. The nurse screams for help but Sean is already out of the room, running.

As he turns a corner, he sees a tall, slim figure he recognizes: Cat's mother.

"Sean, what, what is going on?"

He stops in front of her, breathing heavily, his back and face on fire.

"I just woke up, they wouldn't tell me where Cat was or if she was okay and I panicked..."

Mrs. Valentine saw the tears running down his face, tears he couldn't stop now had he wanted to, and she grabbed him in a fierce, crushing hug. She quickly let go as he cried out in pain, tears standing in her own eyes.

"Cat's fine, Sean, less hurt than you are, but…"

"But what?"

"Honey, she, Cat won't wake up. The doctor's say that there is some mild head trauma but they just can't tell what going to happen yet. I'm sorry, Sean."

Shock overtook him and he sank to the floor, blood still coursing down his face, mixed with his tears. He doesn't protest as someone sinks a needle into his arm.

He welcomes the oblivion that rises to take him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Welcome to the fourth and final chapter of Eyes of the Dreamer. Thank you for reading I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. **

Two weeks.

Two weeks.

Those two words kept replaying themselves over and over again in Sean's head. Cat has lain there in that hospital bed for two weeks. And Sean himself hasn't moved from her room in that time. Cat's mother arranged first for him to share her room during his convalescence and then later to stay with her, even during the long hours of the night, when no other visitors were allowed. The doctors either had no idea what was wrong or they weren't telling Sean what they knew. He suspected the former. Each day that passed drew more of his hope away, despite the encouragement of their friends.

He had tried everything, looking up comatose statistics online and trying to find anything that would help. He talked to Cat constantly, read to her from her favorite books, sang her song, told her that he loved her and said all the little things that his pride would never have let him say before. As the days wore on, his hope for Cat slowly ebbed away like the tide at dawn.

Cat slept on and Sean watched her, kept his vigil even when he despaired. She _**had**_ to wake up. She was everything.

On the fourteenth day of Cat's slumber, Sean finally gave way to exhaustion and passed out, holding onto Cat's hand as if it were the only thing keeping him alive.

_**Fade….**_

Cat was sick of this darkness and sick of the film projector and its damn screen. She had tried everything she could think of to avoid it and every time it drew her into its heart. As she thought about the unfairness of it all, the screen lit up again.

"No. Please, I just wanna go home and see—"

The light drew her in once more, regardless of her protests.

A red haired woman sits in an ancient movie theatre. She has been sitting in this half empty cinema with tears in her eyes, watching these poignant movies about reunited lovers and thinking about life, how sad it is, when the man sitting next to her puts his hand over hers. He is handsome, beautiful even despite the slanting scar that runs across his eye; in fact this flaw seems to make the rest of him even more attractive to her. When he leads her out (the movie isn't over, but she knows what happens next), she somehow cannot resist, though he is not her husband.

He takes her to a room in a small hotel. She seems to recognize it, though she has never been here, nor indeed has she ever done anything like this before. The windows, under the slanted ceiling, look out onto the rooftops and chimney pots. Next to one of the windows a porcelain basin sits on a table draped in faded yellow cloth, a used bar of brown soap in a tin dish and a pitcher of water beside it. She knows without looking that there is a frayed green towel on the chrome bar screwed into the side of the basin, a white one on the floor to stand on, and a blue drinking glass beside the basin, catching the late afternoon light.

She has never been here, so how does she know all of this?

Perhaps she has seen too many movies. The priest's barren cell in that film she saw a week ago about the passionate but impossible romance between a priest and a nun, for example, had slanted ceilings and a washstand with a towel bar and a basin that looked much like this one, though everything was white. Earlier, in the garden, in the soft light of a tree's shade, the priest and the nun, utterly love-struck, had drawn together, gazing deeply into each others eyes—much like the flower girl and the war veteran in the movie she had just left—then had parted in anguish, suffering the shame of their iniquitous desire.

Alone afterward in his cell, the priest—though you couldn't actually see this—was committing the sin of onanism when the nun reappeared before him in all her resplendent beauty, dressed only in her wimple, with a golden crucifix between her exquisite breasts. Was she real or only his crazed and hapless fantasy? It was unclear, but she was played by a living actress—living at the time anyway—and so she seemed real, and what happened between them also seemed real. Did they use the washbasin afterward? Maybe they did since she remembers it so vividly.

Meanwhile, the man she is with now, while removing his tie, is telling her a strange story about his obsession with a woodland nymph, whom he met briefly one afternoon while out hiking and for whom, whether she exists or not, he has been ceaselessly searching ever since.

"I thought for a moment that you might be she," he says sorrowfully, as she kicks off her pumps and peels down her stockings

"How do you know that I'm not?"

"Because I cannot forget her, though I often wish I could. I see her features even when I look at myself in the mirror."

He unbuttons his shirt, setting the cufflinks thoughtfully beside the blue glass.

"It took me forever to find my way back to the trail, and you could say that I have not found it yet."

He lowers his pants.

"You are chasing phantoms," she says lifting her dress over her head, "though the past may once have existed, it does not now exist. Something has taken its place."

She feels certain she has said this before. Or heard it said. She wants to explain what that something is, but it's too late—even as she steps out of her underwear the film is breaking and rattling in the projector…

_**Fade…**_

Cat's eyes opened suddenly, the light blinding her, but she refused to close them again. Slowly her vision clears and she can see that she is in a hospital. The memories come rushing back: the restaurant, the necklace, the car, Sean, Sean, Sean, Sean! She starts to panic, but then feels a soft pressure on her hand. She looks down to see Sean, torso sprawled across her bed, lower half still in the chair he must have fallen asleep in. His scarred, yet handsome face was peaceful in sleep.

Raising her other hand, she gently traced the scar running down across his left eye. The slight touch woke him, his eyes snapping open and locking on hers. He looked like he hadn't been sleeping or eating well at all, and a new cut, still stitched up, ran up the right side of his face, from chin to cheek bone.

"Cat?" he whispered, as though her name would chase her away.

"I'm here Sean, you aren't asleep anymore."

"I was so—you were asleep for so long, Kitty-Cat… We were afraid you'd never wake up…"

Tears now coursed down his face, and she reached over and brushed them away with her thumbs.

"Shh, its okay, I'm awake now. I'm not dreaming anymore, baby."

He smiled, it was tiny but it was a smile.

"Were your dreams good?" he asked, his green-eyed gaze intent on her face.

"Of course they were, they were about you." She said laughing and pulling him down for a kiss.

**A/N: and that all folks! Like it, hate it, love it, or think I should stop writing these awful stories? Let me know, just push that beautiful review button.**


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